


I'm Already There

by Traviosita9124



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fitz coping with his hallucinations, FitzSkye Friendship, Gen, Hinted/Implied romantic!FitzSimmons, early season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 16:16:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4269834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traviosita9124/pseuds/Traviosita9124
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitz struggles with the ramifications of Jemma leaving. Early Season 2. One-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Already There

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this early in Season 2 as a way for my muse to cope with Jemma being gone. It had been posted on tumblr originally, but I've decided to post it here now.

It was far too quiet at night.

The thought made Fitz chuckle darkly, his eyes fixed on the smooth concrete ceiling of his bunk at the Playground. Whoever would have thought that with all his pissing and moaning when they first arrived on the Bus about it being too loud and too cramped, that the more spacious, silent-as-the-grave dormitory at the Playground would give him problems when it came to falling asleep.

The sigh came suddenly, soft and high and decidedly feminine, causing him to tense up.

He knew it wasn’t real. If it were real, he would have heard her come in and felt the mattress dip beneath her weight instead of her just appearing in bed next to him. But still, despite knowing that, he couldn’t help the hopeful feeling that welled up in his chest, the joy at knowing he would get to see her, or at least some version of her for a little while.

He was a sick man, clinging to a dream, but he turned anyway, settling on his side to look at her. He had already memorized her profile, but allowed his eyes to trace over her the delicate line of her nose and lips again anyway. He reached for her without thinking, his arm snaking out beneath the thin blanket to curl around her waist, and urged her to turn toward him. She felt impossibly soft and warm beneath his arm, and his body reflexively relaxed in response, instinct overriding logic. They lay like that for a few minutes, breathing in unison as they just waited in the silence, and Fitz took the opportunity to memorize the pattern of muted browns and golds that were her irises.

It would have been easy to kiss her then, to pull her close and slant is mouth across hers, seeking comfort in a dark place.

But he didn’t.

Fitz didn’t want to be that man, the one who was so far gone he submerged himself in what he knew wasn’t real. That, and he wanted the first time he felt her lips against his to be rooted in his waking world, not whatever this nightmare existence was.

“I miss you, Jemma,” he whispered. “Every single day, an’...” He felt the tears form hot and thick along his lashes, and he squeezed his eyes shut against them. He would not cry for a shadow.

“I know, Fitz, I know.” Her voice carried the same tone it always did, bright and hopeful, and Fitz knew what was coming next. Sure enough, somehow, despite the way they were lying under the blanket, her hand found it’s way to his right shoulder, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You just need to be-”

“Patien’, I know,” he said tersely, cutting her off even as his hand reflexively came up to squeeze hers. As much as he hated himself for it, he couldn’t do without that point of contact. It was his lifeline, and he wouldn’t throw it away, even though it would dissolve in a few minutes.

He knew he was only torturing himself, that he’d get no real answers, and yet the words tumbled out of his mouth. “I jus’ wish I knew why you weren’ patien’ wit’ me. I was gettin’ better, an’ then…”

She just left. He had woken up one morning to be told that she had gone. Only Coulson would meet his eyes, but it was fleeting, as he fed him some excuse about needing Jemma to start rebuilding the SciTech division while Fitz worked out the cloaking issue on the Bus. It hadn’t gone unnoticed for Fitz that when Coulson promised that she’d be back soon, his eyes were focused on the files before him.

He opened his eyes again, hoping that he’d see an answer to why she left, only to find that the vision was gone.

~*~

The third time the computer beeped at him, informing Fitz that he had forgotten a crucial step in the testing process, he lost his grip on his temper. Without thinking, his hand wrapped around one of the samples the team had brought him, samples of some as-yet unidentifiable goo, and hurled it at the far wall of the lab just for the pleasure of watching it burst apart the way he desperately wished he would.

Normally, he would have been mortified. It had been years since he’d had trouble controlling his angry outbursts, thanks to work done by both his mother and Jemma, but now he just didn’t care. It was late, he couldn’t manage to string together more than three hours of sleep a night, and he was bloody sick of covering Jemma’s work.

“You should fuckin’ be here!” he roared into the empty space, beyond giving a damn who he woke up. “ _You’re_ th’ bloody biochemist. Th’ disgustin’ crap they scrape up should be on _your_ lab bench, no’ mine!”

Skye was watching Fitz quietly through the glass wall, out of his line of sight, as she and May had taken to doing when they realized he was cracking. His yell startled her, as unexpected as it was. She’d seen him frustrated and angry, but Skye hadn’t ever heard him use that tone. Had Jemma?

It was the words though that drew her into the lab and caused her to hoist herself up to sit on the end of Fitz’ bench. “She had a couple moments too, when you were in a coma and it was the other way around,” Skye said quietly. “I don’t think she ever threw anything, though.”

Fighting down his initial surprise at realizing he wasn’t alone, Fitz cut his eyes toward Skye, his expression clearly annoyed and not the least bit repentant. He had thought he was alone, and his frustration was too great to ignore in favor of feeling guilty over waking his teammate. Huffing, and tongue probing the inside of his cheek, Fitz set his hands on his hips and glared back toward the far wall. The gelatinous sample had begun its slow descent, rolling over itself as it made its way from the wall to the floor.

Fitz stood that way for a long moment, biting back countless acerbic comments before he slinked over to begin cleaning up. “Did she now?” he tossed over his shoulder, not bothering to turn and note Skye’s reaction.

He pulled a pair of nitrile gloves from a nearby box, tugged them on, and stooped to begin picking up the larger pieces of glass, hoping against hope that it would distract him from another outburst. “Wha’ever i’ was tha’ did her in,” Fitz grumbled, voice muffled by the way his chin was pressed down into his jumper as he focused on cleaning, “she certainly go’ over i’. Or she’d be here, doin’ th’ job she swore a bloody oath t’ do.”

There was so much more he wanted to say, but the words died in his throat, choked down equally by anger and sorrow. None of it mattered, not really. Not any more. Certainly not the work, if Jemma had left. She was the only reason he had even gone into the field, and now he didn’t even have that. All he had was a broken brain, double the work, and no possible recourse. The thought sent a fresh wave of anger through him, and Fitz allowed himself to stew as he finished cleaning the floor and moved on to wiping down the wall.

It wasn’t like she was going to blame him for his outburst. They’d all been in a shitty situation for months now, and there was no sign of it ending anytime soon. All of them had blown up at one point or another, one way or another. Coulson worked furiously and forewent sleep. Trip went rounds on end with a punching bag. May got quieter and more stoic, spending hours in a remote storeroom practicing tai chi. Skye, though? Skye vented. In a storeroom far on the opposite side of the Playground from May’s sanctuary, wary of disturbing the older woman.

Jemma hadn’t known Skye had seen her breakdown either. She’d never cracked in public, not even those last few days before she left, stiff British upper lip forever in place. Sometimes Skye wondered if Jemma had confided in someone - anyone - if she’d still be here, or if it had really been like Coulson had said, that Jemma left because she thought Fitz would recover faster without her here.

It had stung badly, realizing she’d left without saying anything to anyone but Coulson. Skye could only imagine how that had felt to Fitz, still struggling just to communicate, much less work. He’d still been one handed, his broken arm only half healed, when she’d gone.

“If yelling makes you feel better, go ahead and yell. Hell, I’ll even show you the back storeroom I use when I need to.” Skye slid off the bench as easily as she’d hopped up, quietly moving over to where Fitz was scrubbing at the wall, his movements still a bit shaky. Whether that was from the motor damage or just anger and irritation, Skye couldn’t tell. But what she could do was offer to help. “I know I’m not her… But if you want to talk… I can listen, too.”

Fitz barked out a humorless laugh and stopped scrubbing, dropping his gaze to the floor. “Well, a’ leas’ I know you’re real, an’ no’ a figment o’ my imagination.” He resumed his work for a few moments, until he realized he could practically feel Skye staring a hole into the side of his face.

“Wha’?” he asked, turning to face her. “You didn’ suspec’ somethin’ when I was talkin’ t’ myself in th’ lab?”

“Oh, I knew something was wrong with you long before that,” Skye quipped. “Before everything went to shit, even. I think it was the obsession with monkeys that did it. _Monkeys_. Really? For every cute species there’s three that are just downright ugly. Unless they’re babies. All babies are adorable. Well, except the human ones. It’s like, a rule of nature.”

She hesitated before speaking again though, knowing for once - _thanks, May_ , Skye sighed inwardly - that her humor was probably inappropriate and not especially helpful. “Really though, I think there are worse things you could be doing right now than pretending you’re talking to Simmons. I mean - at least you’re still you enough to know it’s not really her, right?”

Fitz began to shake his head as he stripped off his gloves and cast them onto the floor in disgust, not with the task but with himself. He hadn’t known that though, not for the longest time.

He vaguely remembered waking up one day several months ago and beginning his morning routine. He’d progressed enough in physical therapy that he could shower and dress himself, and he’d done so before making his bed and settling on top of the covers to read and wait for Jemma. That had become part of his routine as well, both reading his old texts in an effort to help recover the vocabulary he’d lost and Jemma coming to get him for breakfast, and he trusted the routine enough to sit patiently and wait.

Hours had ticked by, but he steadfastly kept his attention on his text, trusting she’d come for him. It was only when his stomach’s grumbling had become unbearable that he broke from his cherished routine and ventured out to find his errant best friend.

When he discovered the still-cold kettle, he frowned, wondering what had kept her from her morning cuppa. The sight of the dark, still lab troubled him further, and he worried that Jemma had fallen ill, a victim of how hard she’d been working both with him and rebuilding S.H.I.E.L.D. But it was when he entered her bunk and the abnormal stillness of the air hit him full in the face that Fitz really knew something was wrong.

Yet, nobody uttered a word about her absence, other than a few comments about her being back soon. They merely handed her work to him and left him to puzzle it all out. For the most part, he managed, but not without the shaking and stuttering and frustrated growls that he hated, so when she reappeared one day, as silently as she had left, Fitz hadn’t questioned it. He was just grateful that she had come home to him and was willing to hold his hand as he struggled through the lab work. Even the softer, more affectionate way she was with him, touching him at every opportunity, didn’t raise any immediate alarms.

It wasn’t until he realized she never changed, not her clothes or her hair or her tone, and never actually touched the lab equipment herself that he even had an inkling of what was going on, but by then it was too late. He was too damaged, too attached to having even the ghost of her memory with him, and couldn’t let it go, even if he tried.

“I’s no’ fair,” he stated simply, his voice going quiet as his anger deflated. He pushed himself off the floor, and giving Skye a wide berth, went back to settle at his lab bench. “She lef’. She chose t’ leave when I never… I always though’...” Swallowing, Fitz managed to lock eye contact with Skye. “She jus’ walked away, bu’ I still cannae be rid o’ her. Even when I try.”

“Fitz…” Skye’s voice gentled, and she followed him back to the lab bench, unwilling to let it go when Fitz finally seemed to be opening up and talking for once. “I don’t think Simmons would take leaving lightly. I don’t know why she did, but she doesn’t do anything without having a good reason and you know that, too. And I really, really don’t think it’s because she doesn’t care.”

Sighing, Skye leaned her hip on the edge of the bench, her hand perched on the other, her posture sassy even when her voice wasn’t. “You know what I think?” she asked, but kept on even without Fitz’ response. “I think she needed to go. Think through things without any of us around. I know she felt guilty about what happened in the medpod. She didn’t have a choice but to risk this,” Skye waved her hand toward Fitz’ head, “And then couldn’t fix you. I know for sure she was questioning whether being a part of SHIELD was worth what it had done to you both, and I think she knew we’d watch over you while she got her head on straight.”

She reached out then, invading Fitz’ personal space to wrap an arm around Fitz’ shoulders and pull him into her side for a half-hug, “She’ll be back, monkeyboy. Simmons can’t just leave you behind that easily. I’d put money on her being just as miserable without you as you are without her.”

Fitz flinched when Skye pulled him into the embrace, unable to resist what had become an instinctual reaction ever since he figured out it wasn’t actually Jemma he’d been speaking to. It only lasted a fraction of a second, however, and he quickly relaxed into the friendly touch, even though he kept his eyes focused on the lab bench. He reached out for the model of the cloaking components he’d been working with that afternoon, fiddling with them as he considered what Skye had said.

“I-” he stopped, swallowing and gathering his thoughts. “I think I was th’ one makin’ her miserable in th’ firs’ place.” He heard Skye’s intake of breath, undoubtedly to cut him off but he plowed on. “I dinnae know wha’ she migh’ have said t’ you about wha’ happened, but… I said somethin’. Somethin’ selfish ‘cause I though’ it’d be my las’ chance. Bu’ here I am, an’ I think i’ jus’ made i’ tha’ much harder for her.”

In those moments, when she realized what he was saying and before he pushed that little red button, Fitz had seen Jemma’s face. She had known what he’d meant, but hadn’t responded in any definite way. He’d taken that at face value, and while it might not have been what he’d wanted, he’d convinced himself it was enough that she’d known that the sacrifice was entirely his choice and why he was willing to make it. But he’d woken up when he wasn’t meant to. That must have made it awkward for her. He had made it awkward for her, between needing to be cared for and the weight of what he felt for her hanging over them despite his best efforts not to, and she had left because of it.

It was all his fault.

Somehow finding the strength to glance at Skye, he gave her a slightly watery half-smile and a shrug before pulling away. He knew she meant well, but the kindness just hurt too much at the moment. Hell, hoping hurt too much at the moment, and that was the spirit that pushed through his next words. “We’ll jus’ have ‘ wait an’ see, bu’... I really dinnae think she’ll be back.”

Skye’s eyes filled at the hopelessness in his voice, hating that there was no good way out of this situation for any of them. “Part of it was you,” Skye admitted, “But I don’t think it was your fault. You were only doing the same thing you’ve always done - counting on Jemma to pick up your thoughts. She was afraid it would take you longer to recover, because she couldn’t bear to leave them hanging.”

She was putting together bits and pieces of things Simmons had said to her in the weeks before she left though, now that she’d gotten a bit more information from Fitz. Simmons hadn’t given her details, only that something happened in the medpod and that Fitz didn’t remember it. Skye bit her lip, catching the fuller lower one in her teeth as she debated whether to push for more information, when he mind caught on something else. “Fitz. _Fitz_. When you’re talking to Jemma… does she still finish your sentences?”

His brow furrowed and he set down the spare bit of machinery he’d been tinkering with to look at Skye. Her tone clearly implied she felt she’d hit on something big, but for the life of him, Fitz couldn’t see it. What the hell did it matter if his hallucination spoke back to him or finished his sentences, other than to prove he actually was going insane.

“Sometimes, yeah,” he admitted, turning to face the youngest member of the team, “bu’ does i’ really matter? I’s only me talkin’-” This time he saw Skye’s eyes go wide, and Fitz felt himself mirror her expression as he slowly began nodding, catching up to her. “I’s only me talkin’! If she’s answerin’, tha’ means… i’ means everythin’ is still there!”

In his excitement, Fitz wrapped Skye into a tight hug. “I’ means I’m no’ crazy, either.” Tears still drying on his face, he backed half a step away from Skye, although he maintained a grip on her biceps, and gave her an honest grin. “Well, no crazier than anyone’s ever suspected, a’ leas’.”

Skye’s returning grin was almost blindingly wide, her eyes still a bit glossy, too. And yet, she caught his cheeks in her hands and gave him an exuberant kiss square on his grinning mouth. “Everything’s still there, monkeyboy! _Everything_. Now you’ve just got to get it back. _Patience_ , padawan.” Skye made a face at that. “I know. Not something either of us are known for. But the least I can do is fill in for Simmons when I’m here twiddling my thumbs and look up that sort of therapy stuff.”

Fitz flushed bright red and brought his hand up to rub the back of his neck, unsure of how to react to Skye’s kissing him despite knowing it didn’t mean anything to either of them. “I keep hearin’ tha’,” Fitz grumbled, although not in what had become his usual annoyed tone. “But no one seems t’ realize, I’m almos’ there.”

With that, he returned his attention to analyzing the goo as Skye began working on her laptop, reassured and refocused by the knowledge that he knew what he was doing, even if it might take him a little longer than it had before. As soon as he relearned how to access that knowledge, he’d be able to speed up again, hopefully becoming as quick as he’d been before.

Maybe it’d even be enough to bring Jemma back to them.

~*~

Some weeks later, she stood outside the lab, off to the side so as not to be seen, and watched.

Watched his hands tremble. Watched his mouth moving though there was no one around for him to be talking to. Watched him reach for his shoulder as if he were holding onto something like a lifeline. Watched his face twist up in frustration. Watched his puttering around the space, the same small tics that had always been there now intensified.

She was so angry she was shaking. The only way for him to have not made any progress was isolation. Isolation and coddling… Fitz was never one for coddling. He didn’t like to be placated or lied to. Black and white, is or is not, solutions for equations. That’s how he was. How could they have just let him wither down in the lab? One hand clenched into a fist at the thought, watching the way the other scientists move around the lab, ignoring his muttering. Ignoring him all together, really. The sad part, the thing that made her cringe, was that she understood it. From an outside perspective, without any background or knowledge of how he _had_ been, of course they were going to give him a wide berth.

But Skye? Coulson?

Swallowing down the hot anger lancing up her throat, she forced herself to remember that she’d been gone for _months_. Maybe (and god, she hopes she’s wrong) this was actually progress. Maybe this was a good day, a good week. Maybe this was leaps and bounds from where he may have been. Guilt began to creep in like a chill, spreading over her and making her skin pucker.

She’d left so that he would get better. He would have been too dependent on her and she wouldn’t have been able to resist allowing it, not after what he’d shared in the medpod and what he’d done. She would have done anything for him and therein was the problem: he wouldn’t recover, wouldn’t get better that way. It would have only prolonged any progress-- or even stalled it. The mind, she told herself, was a fickle thing. The brain could recover while the mind remained damaged.

She’d left so that she could help him, find some way to make it right. Going under with HYDRA, going rogue… None of it was smart. None of it was safe (clearly). But they had resources. They had technology. They had people with more doctorates, more knowledge, more experience, more history than anything SHIELD could offer at the moment. It was reckless, yes, and hindsight was always 20/20, but she found that _needed_ to try. Needed to at least make an attempt to help him, needed to feel more useful than just sitting by his bedside reading him the same three magazines over and over again or watching him turn to her with pleading eyes as she finished all of his sentences for him with a sinking feeling in her gut.

And really, the intel she’d gathered while being rogue was monumental. It would change the game, it would put Coulson two steps ahead of their enemies. But somehow now, watching him through the glass of the new lab in the bunker, she suddenly didn’t feel as justified as she had when she’d left. All those days while she’d been gone, when she’d tried to convince herself that she’d done the right thing, seem to break over her because now, watching him, she really didn’t know if she actually helped him or just made everything much, much worse.

She shifted on her feet, adjusting her shoulder so that the sling wrapped around it wasn’t digging in so much, and took a deep breath. Released it. Another deep breath. She couldn’t put it off any longer and though a very large part of her was dreading the utter betrayal that’s bound to be all over his face and words, there’s also a part of her-- the part that had changed so much over the last few months of being away-- that just wanted to face it, deal with it, and let it be done. Even if he never forgave her, at least she’d come back and tried. Still, the thought that he might never forgive her made her lungs constrict and she clung to the hope that he’d understand at least some of her reasons before telling her to get out of the lab and to leave him alone.

Limping heavily across the small distance to the lab doors, she willfully propelled her body through the glass door and paused upon entering, meeting each and every pair of eyes at least once, as if daring them to say a word to her. It was clearly enough to communicate her disdain for all of them and their treatment of Fitz, and bodies began to disperse, shuffling out of the lab with side glances and softly whispered words.

They didn’t matter.

Only he mattered.

She made her way quietly over to what looked to be his own little corner of the lab, papers strewn across the table and lab bench. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know where to even begin. His back was to her and she could see the fidgetiness of his movements, his body in constant motion. She was tempted to walk around the table and simply wrap her arms around him, but she knew without a doubt that it wouldn’t be what he’d want and it would more likely just throw him completely off kilter. Instead, she cleared her throat once and squared off the uninjured side of her body the best she can.

“Fitz?”

He’d thought he’d been getting better. He had stopped trembling as much, and his thoughts had been coming more quickly, but that all flew out the window as soon as Jemma had come into the lab.

Fitz had felt her there, even through the glass and despite (or perhaps because of) her effort to remain in the shadows, and his body had tensed in response. His shoulders, his spine, everything had seemed to freeze on him, making his movements jerkier than they’d been in weeks. That only served to frustrate him, too, and soon it all began to feed in on itself, until Fitz was nothing more than a tightly wound ball of anger, fear, frustration, sorrow, and loss.

Teeth clenched on a string of caustic comments, Fitz kept his eyes trained on the bench before him as he answered Jemma. “I heard you came back las’ nigh’. Wasnae sure you’d bother comin’ back t’ the lab, or if you were jus’ goin’ t’ go back into th’ field again.”

She wanted to flinch at his accusation but she knew she deserved whatever he gave to her, justified or not. He hadn’t turned toward her, hadn’t looked at her at all, and it was a confirmation of how upset he was.

“I won’t be doing any field assignments for a long time.” It wasn’t really what she wanted to talk about, but since he’d made a point to bring up her being in the field she felt the need to tell him that she’d be sticking close to the bunker they used as a base for the foreseeable future. Not only because of her injuries, but because Coulson had taken her off the short list of people he used for field missions, saying she was needed at base more than in the field.

Now she understood.

“Really? Now why is tha’?” Fitz scoffed, turning to look at her as he did so, only to freeze in his tracks. He felt he did a good job keeping his face neutral, although he felt the way his eyes involuntarily widened as he took in her battered appearance.

Arm in a sling, face peppered with tiny abrasions with dark circles under her eyes, and when she self-consciously shifted herself under the weight of his examination, he realized that she was favoring her left side. Jemma had been through hell, simply put, pushed well past the brink, and he still found her unbelievably beautiful. Torn between relief that she had come back alive and hurt that she seemed oblivious to what she’d put him through, Fitz’ anger came on him without warning.

“So this is why you lef’, Simmons?” he spat, stepping away from the bench and moving toward her, stopping short of being within arms reach. His fingers clenched at his side as he glared at her, his stomach a churning mess of emotion. “T’ play th’ bloody field agent an’ nearly ge’ yourself killed?” Images flashed through his mind, the weeks in a hospital bed followed by having to use forearm crutches to hobble around the Playground, enduring the pitying looks of the team and other scientists as he did so. But he’d endured it all for her, to get back to being Jemma’s partner and friend, even if he had to swallow back everything that he felt for her to do so, only to have her leave.

“If you wan’ t’ go on suicide missions an’ play a’ bein’ this instead of bein’ my partner, you should have jus’ said so. Would have been a lo’ kinder.” He turned back toward his bench before his anger could overwhelm him, fingers clenched around the edge of the table in a desperate attempt to keep himself upright.

Swallowing, she made no attempt to move closer or reach for him despite the burning desire to do so. He really didn’t understand. He may never understand but she owed him the explanation. Working around the knot lodged in her throat, she tries to put into words what her real motives had been.

“No. I left so that you would get _better_. Fitz...” she moved then, hand scrubbing across her forehead and winced at the sting of her skin against the abrasions. This was harder than she’d thought, mostly because she couldn’t seem to find any real valid points in her reasons.

“You needed to heal. You needed to be able to make progress without me holding you back. I had to leave. I didn’t want to. God, I didn’t want to. But it was the only way you’d make any real progress. I was trying to help you.” Her voice caught, making her stumble over her words and she had to pause to push down the wave of self loathing that swamped her.

She hadn’t helped at all.

Fitz could feel the tears prick his eyes as she spoke. It was particularly painful, not because he thought Jemma was lying to him or trying to give him excuses, but because he saw the logic in it, even though he felt it was deeply flawed logic. He swallowed around a painful lump in his throat, trying to put his thoughts into some kind of order she might understand, as well as preventing himself from completely falling to pieces in front of her. For some odd reason, his pride simply wouldn’t allow for that.

“No, Simmons, wha’ I needed was my partner. I needed my bes’ friend t’ help me through i’. T’ help me realize I wasnae actually goin’ mad… or a’ leas’ someone who would realize a lo’ sooner than Skye did tha’ I had gon’ round th’ bend.” He screwed up his courage to look at her, shifting to prop a hip against the bench, wanting to feel connected to something solid in case his legs actually did give out on him. “I needed you, Jemma, an’ ‘m sorry if I made everythin’ weird, an’ tha’s why you needed t’ leave, or--”

“I _was_ being your best friend, Fitz! What sort of friend would I have been if I had stayed and you never made advances because I was so selfish, because I didn’t want to leave you? I _am_ your best friend, I _am_ your partner. I didn’t want to go undercover at HYDRA! I didn’t want to go anywhere, Fitz, but they had tech we didn’t have, medical advances that we didn’t know about. Coulson thought I might have been able to find something to help you--  Hell, think about what GH325 did for Skye. That is the _only_ reason I agreed to go in the first place, Fitz. It just… It got more complicated the longer I was there and more information led to more questions. I never planned on being gone so long. I wouldn’t have...”

Somewhere in the middle of her outburst, her hands had started to shake and her body was reacting to the warring emotions she was experiencing. She felt cold, then hot, then cold again, and she fought back tears once more when he mentioned the medpod.

Of course he would think that it had made her run. She swiped her fingers under her eyes to catch any disobedient tears. He didn’t need her to cry right now. It was all so convoluted between them: his words in the medpod all twisted up with her leaving and his recovery and she didn’t know how to untangle it all for him.

“The medpod…” she shook her head, trying to gather her thoughts and put them into words. “I agreed to go because I do love you. But that wasn't helping you any, because I couldn't quit trying to help you in some way or another. You wouldn't heal that way. You needed to do it - to want it - for you, not for me. You needed to make those connections on your own."

Fitz didn’t bother to hide his tears. Instead, he merely braced his hands on the lab bench and allowed his head to fall forward as they started to come. He was aware that Jemma knew him well enough to know he was weeping, but despite being so upset with her, trusted her to let him have this without falling all over him.

“You… you dinnae understand, Jemma,” he whispered, his voice still plenty loud in the now-quiet lab, even as it cracked on her name. He hadn’t spoken it aloud before now, not really, and it felt foreign on his tongue now that she was actually in the room with him. “I jus’ _hallucinated_ you instead.” He paused, allowing her to mull over that bit of information before continuing. “An’ ‘m sure you’ll jus’ tell me wha’ Skye says. Tha’ i’s okay tha’ I hallucinated you, because i’ meant tha’ i’ was my brain fillin’ in th’ gaps and healin’. But, Jemma… i’ jus’ hurt. Knowin’ you left me an’ I wasnae strong enough t’ leave you behind, too. Tha’... tha’ ‘m so bloody dependen’ on you tha’ I honestly believe life is better hallucinatin’ you than life withou’ you.”

There was more he wanted to say, but his throat closed tightly on the words. Fitz didn’t think what he was feeling needed to be said anyway. Jemma knew his family history. Knew his father has walked out on him and his mother when he was a young boy, knew how he still carried that with him. She had to have realized, on some level at least, how that had affected him and would continue to affect him and that her leaving would only stir those feelings up once more.

Jemma swallowed heavily, but the thick, pained feeling in her chest wouldn’t go away. She hadn’t been prepared for that. In some ways, it made sense… The mumbling she’d seen earlier suddenly made so much more sense. It was gut wrenching to think about. She knew what he was saying even if he hadn’t actually said it, knew about his father and what it had done to him and his mum. The idea that he felt like she’d done the same thing to him… She hated it. She hated seeing him upset, hated knowing that though he was within arms reach he was still so far from her. She couldn’t comfort him, couldn’t do anything but use words to try to explain and she was even failing at that.

She didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry.”

It was the only thing she had to offer him now. Aside from her love, which she didn’t know if he wanted anymore. “I don’t know what else to say, Fitz. I’m not your father. I didn’t leave and never look back. I didn’t leave because I was upset about what you said in the medpod. I left because I thought it was the only right thing to do at the time. And I don’t expect you to forgive me anytime soon-- or ever, even. I just… I need you to know that I did it because I thought it was the only way I could help you, that it was the best thing for you even if you didn’t see it. I’m sorry.”

She didn’t want to walk away from him, not this time or ever again, so instead she toed the floor with her boot and tried to hold back her tears, standing awkwardly in the middle of the lab with nothing left in her to give him. Her heart was accusing her of making a terrible, terrible mistake but her brain was countering with the knowledge that he had indeed made some sort of progress, even if it looked like her.

Fitz focused on his breathing, trying to maintain some semblance of control as he listened to Jemma speak. He could hear the emotion in her voice, wanted to turn and hold her, but part of him wouldn’t allow it. The angry part of him that resented her for leaving him alone in a lab, struggling through material they could have easily handled together while the rest of the scientific team looked on wondering whether this was really the genius Leo Fitz they’d heard so much about.

Just then, a flash of movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention, and his head jerked upward, only to drop again. “Bloody hell,” he quietly ground out, eyes squeezed tight as he tried to will her to go away. “No’ now. She’s back. Why are you still here?”

The Jemma in his head circled the real Jemma, studying the other woman closely. The contrast between the two was stark. His ‘Jemaginary friend’ as Skye had taken to calling her was nearly pristine, her hair back in its neat ponytail and clad in the slightly fussy, feminine things she’d always worn. Seeing the two together, the real Jemma’s hair ragged, skin bruised and bloodied, arm cradled against her own chest, clothed in tactical gear, it was so very obvious that the months hadn’t been easy on her.

As she’d often done, the imaginary Jemma chided him, even though her voice was soft and sweet and gentle. “Fitz. You hurt her. You wouldn’t hurt me like this. Why would you do this to her? She loves you. You know that. Even if you think she chose the wrong way to show it, she did what she thought was best. Again.”

His shoulders tensed, flexing beneath his button down and jumper as he wrestled with what he was feeling. He knew on some level that his hallucination was right, was merely telling him what he knew to be true. But it was still nearly impossible to lay down, something that carried through in his rough, angry tone.

“She lef’ me! After knowin’ my da lef’, too, she still jus’ walked out!” He brought his palm down on the lab bench, his voice breaking a bit at the end of his assertion.

Jemma blinked, eyes pulled from the floor where she’d been contemplating what to do, and looked at him. He was clearly upset though she hadn’t said anything more. When he shouted at the empty space next to her and slammed his hand into the lab bench, it became clear that he _wasn’t_ talking to her. Her mind fairly spun, trying to grapple with the fact that despite her being back and right in front of him, his mind still needed whatever version of her he’d created to handle this situation. She wondered what the other her was like and fought back the urge to ask, knowing that if she spoke now it would only make everything more confusing. Whatever he was debating in his mind right now, Fitz needed to work through it without her interfering.

“Yes, she left,” imaginary Jemma agreed. “But leaving was the most unselfish thing she could have possibly done for you. Do you think it didn’t hurt her to go? That she didn’t miss you every day?” She circled behind the real Jemma, still studying the other woman before she turned her gaze back to Fitz, expression soft. Imaginary Jemma was an extension of Fitz; she knew why he was so angry. Fitz knew he was being irrational, but wasn’t ready to admit it. He _did_ want Jemma back though deep down and was simply trying to convince himself why he should forgive her.  

“Your father left because he was selfish and didn’t want the responsibility of caring for you or your mum. Comparing her to him isn’t fair, Fitz. _Look at her_. She thinks you’re never going to forgive her, when she was being the best friend she could be to you. You need to fix this.”

For a hallucination, her words were startlingly reasonable, even though he was loathe to admit it. He knew Jemma hadn’t left for the same reasons his father had, but that didn’t stop the visceral, emotional reaction being left had caused. She was his best friend, and even if he had ruined it all by telling her he loved her as more… he hadn’t expected her to just walk away.

He looked up, facing both Jemma, battered and bruised as she was, and his idealized vision of her, looking as cool and pristine as ever. Both were watching him, setting his nerves on edge, and as much as he hated it, Fitz began bouncing a bit on the balls of his feet, the fresh beginnings of tears forming on his lower lashes. He worried his lower lip between his teeth as his eyes darted between the two, and eventually got up the nerve to cautiously step out from behind the lab bench.

“Jemma,” he called, flinching a bit when they both looked at him, but forcing himself to continue. “Jem, I… could… would… I mean…” Still fighting his own nerves, he held open his arms. “Please, jus’ come hug me, lass.”

For a moment, she wasn’t sure which Jemma he was speaking to, his request taking her off guard. He’d been angry only a half minute ago but whatever he’d been working through he must have decided on because when she looked at him, he was looking at _her_. Not whatever illusion of her he’d made up. Something in her chest loosened and she nodded as she took the few paces to close the distance between them and slid into his space, wincing a little as her body protested her movements.

Fitz didn’t miss the way she winced as she came over, and when Jemma stepped into him, he made sure to hold her gently, not wrapping his arms about her too tightly and taking care to be cautious of her sling. He made eye contact with the other Jemma for a brief moment, looking for reassurance that he’d done the right thing, before squeezing his eyes shut and turning his face into Jemma’s neck. “I… Chris’, lass, I missed you so, so much.”

The other Jemma gave him a beaming smile along with a little nose-wrinkle at his stubbornness, but once he’d wrapped his arms around the real Jemma… his Jemaginary friend nodded in satisfaction. The next time Fitz looked up, she was gone.

The tension built up in her shoulders and back broke and she curved into his hold, her injured collarbone screaming at her all the while and her good arm curled up around his back and she clung to his shoulder tightly. The tears she’d been holding in flowed freely as she took in the familiar scent of him, the feel of his days worth of stubble against her soft cheek, and the thinness of his frame.

“I missed you too. I missed you so much. I was so worried about you. I didn’t think you’d ever want me to come back. And I was so alone there, Fitz. No one cared,  no one talked to me.  All they wanted from me was results and I-- I--” Her voice caught in her throat. She didn’t want to focus on that. Burying her face into his neck, she let herself crumble.  

“Jemma,” he murmured into her hair, tone clearly disbelieving. “O’ course I wanted you t’ come back. You… you’re home, lass.” Fitz choked a bit on those words, still afraid after everything they’d been through, after hearing her say she loved him, that he was being too presumptuous. But he plowed on, knowing she needed to hear what he had to say. Her broken look and the way she was trembling in his arms was enough to tell him that.

“Even withou’ everythin’ else, an’ ever since th’ Academy, you’ve been home, Jemma.” Fitz rocked them a bit, taking care not to jostle her too badly as he did so, and pressed a kiss into her shorn curls. “I want t’ ask tha’ you never leave again… bu’ I know tha’ if they keep you in field work, I cannae ask tha’. But d’ you think you could a’ leas’ tell me when you’re leavin’? If you go dark, you go dark, bu’ please, Jemma, just dinnae leave me wit’ no clue again.”

Her fingers tightened around his shoulder and she shuddered in his hold with every sob that came up her throat, clinging to him and the forgiveness he was offering to her. She shook her head against his neck, his stubble scratching against her skin again when he mentioned her going into the field again.

“No, no. Coulson took me off the list. I’m not going out again. I can’t any time soon anyway, not injured like this. And I don’t want to go. Not after…” she paused, not really wanting to delve into what had happened just yet. There would be time later. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over. I’m home. I’m not going anywhere.”

Fitz could feel relief break over him at her words, the reassurance that she would no longer leave him in a lurch going a long way to soothe his still incredibly frazzled nerves. He knew he was nowhere near healed; it would take much more than Jemma just promising to stay home to help his recovery.

But he couldn’t help but feel that with Jemma with him, at least, he had a much better chance of succeeding. He knew there would be good days and bad days and the odd in between ones where nothing much seemed to happen. That it would be a long, hard process. But at least now, he’d have Jemma there to help.

Fitz knew, despite everything that had happened, one thing held true: as long as they were working on the problem together, a solution couldn’t be far behind.


End file.
